Brows have always been an important part of beauty, easily evidenced in the evolvingâand sometimes, repeatingâtrends through the decades. Think Marlene Dietrichâs exaggerated razor-thin shape, Diana Rossâs pointed arches, Brooke Shieldsâs full, â80s-era brows, Kate Mossâs skinny set, or Cara Delevingneâs bold and bushy pair. For the most part, brow trends have represented Eurocentric ideals. Unibrows, on the other hand, have rarely been given the spotlight, with few references beyond Frida Kahlo.
In recent years, the call for inclusivity and body positivity in the beauty industry has paved the way for stories about everything from deeper skin tones to body hair. GreekâCypriot model Sophia Hadjipanteli has been credited with popularizing the #UnibrowMovement on Instagram, which celebrates the single brow. Meanwhile, some outlets have even declared unibrows a beauty trend. But for BIPOC communities, the complicated relationship with unibrows goes beyond a social media fad or an aesthetic choice.

Shari Siadat for TooD Beauty: photographed by Diego Bendezu.
From ancient Greece to Iranâs Qajar dynasty, unibrows were revered as a symbol of beauty and even intelligence. In the West, particularly for immigrants living in the diaspora, the unibrow has been a source of both pride and pain: it signifies cultural traditions and rituals but has also caused trauma.
Growing up, Shari Siadat did everything possible in order to fit in with the people around her. The IranianâAmerican model, author, and founder of TooD would obsessively pluck, wax, and bleach her facial and arm hair. She found ways to camouflage her identity well into adulthood, until the birth of her third daughter, who looked more like her, rather than her husband. âShe was very much a mirror to make me ask myself, why am I running away from this face? I love this face on my daughter, so why donât I love it on myself?â she says. Siadat decided to let go and grow the hairs she spent a lifetime concealing.
The realization also inspired Siadat to launch TooDâa unisex range of vibrant brow colour creams that celebrate rather than groom or camouflage brows. âI decided that [it was] my form of activism,â she says. âI was very much looking for a superhero mask to highlight that part. [It] was throwing colour and crystals on parts of you that are unique.â
Mashia Anjum, a BangladeshiâBritish makeup artist living in London, also grew up hating her unibrow because of the bullying she experienced. She wanted to get rid of it, but her mom wouldnât let her. âIn my culture, itâs considered good luck,â she explains. She eventually grew to love it, but that didnât mean everyone else did too.
People still idealize a certain standard of beauty, notes Anjum. âSome have asked me why I donât get rid of it, as it makes me look ugly. I also have been asked if my brows are a part of Halloween makeup or not!â

Ghita Zemzami: photographed by ĂlĂŠonore CĂ´tĂŠ-Savard. Makeup by Claudia V.
For Ghita Zemzami, a Montreal-based model and designer, her distinct brows are a badge of honour that represents her Moroccan heritage. Once tweezer-happy, she realized that she couldnât tell people to embrace their insecurities when she was plucking her own brows behind closed doors. âI go out proud and confident knowing that this is something I chose to love instead of hate,â she shares. For her, the #UnibrowMovement represents a shift in the right direction. âI love to see more and more people embracing their biggest insecurities and wearing them proudly.â
The stories are as unique as unibrows themselves, and the more visibility and representation theyâre afforded, the more they can be embraced in all their beautiful and complicated glory.